Days 15 and 16
Aug. 25 and 26


The day began with an unexpected continuation of the previous day’s joy. I celebrated Mass at the Missionary of Charity’s Novitiate not far from where I was staying. The Mass proved to be another memorable experience for me as I looked at the sixty or so novices and sisters with aces representing every continent but Antarctica. Another of Mother’s legacies is bringing the whole world together at one event, namely the giving of one’s life for the poor and suffering. Here was yet another focal point. At this Eucharist, the world came together to experience its redemption near the cross of the thirsting Christ.
After Mass, as usual on this trip, I was served fine breakfast by the sisters with good conversation. One again I was given a tour of the spacious grounds. Mother loved to be here. One of her greatest joys, if not the greatest, was being with the novices. Her presence is still here. More than a novitiate, Green Park cares for mentally disturbed people of all ages. They are separated into various groups such as women, men, older children and younger. In one way it could have been an ordinary mental health hospital in the US. In an important way it was not. The clients knew they were loved and acted accordingly. When I arrived in a sector, I was met with smiles and requests for blessings. I even started giving the adults high fives. They loved it. Sister smiled. I hope Mother did too.
Returning to Fr. Susai Manickam’s Proggaloy, Father, like the excellent host he was, made sure the next leg of my trip would be enjoyable. I wasn’t sure where I would stay in Darjeeling. He made all the arrangements necessary telling me it was better for me to stay at the Bishop’s House. The bishop was in America and his secretary was in charge. He would take good care of me. (As I finished that sentence, that same man just came to my room and poured me a glass of Indian red wine. He has taken excellent care of me, indeed.)
Now, all I had to do was wait for Peter. He sad he’d come at 11:30. By 2:00 he was still delayed. I had to move my baggage to St. Anthony’s and get to the rail station to catch the 17:45 train to Darjeeling. I needed to get there early. I knew the station would be a mass of humanity and I wasn’t sure how to negotiate one of the largest stations in the world. I needed Peter and I needed him fast.
He arrived at 3:00. He then hired a nearby taxi. The driver was an old, slow, and extremely dirty man with bad body habits and a dilapidated cab. But, he managed to get us to town in time to stow my bags at the church and race to the station. We got there with time to have a snack. My train was not on track 29 but on platform 8. I found my name on a list indicating my car and seat/berth assignment. All was well. Finding my place was a bit of a hassle made easier by Peter. Before I realized it, the long train was chugging its way out of the station.
In A/C First Class one might expect serenity and luxury travel. Of course not! The sea of humanity was lessened. (There was no fighting to get on board as there was for the lower class cars. I would not have been able to survive that.) As it was, my compartment comprised four beds. Before I got aboard, a large Muslim man had already sprawled his belongings into my area. He spread his supper on half his seat/bed and his ready-for-bed self on the other half. Know that another passenger had a right to half that space until nightfall when the beds would be deployed. By the way, Ramadan (Ramzan in India) began a day ago. He could not eat until sundown. He kept looking to his watch in between prayers. The other two men sat on my side. One of them left for a while. I took out my Liturgy of the Hours to pray. My remaining companion noticed it and asked if I were a Christian. When I answered in the affirmative, we became friends. He, too, was Christian. He worked for a gas company. When the conductor arrived to check tickets, I had a question to ask him that I had trouble asking. The Muslim answered my question and saw to it I would get off at the right station.
Speaking of the station to which I as headed, it was New Jalpaiguri. My ticket said I was to change there for the toy (narrow gauge) train to Darjeeling. In fact that train has not been running for months due to landslides in the mountains. Fr. Susai had prepared me for this. What I had to do at NJP was to hire an SUV to take me there. He gave me a price range that would be reasonable.
Before that critical moment, I had another problem. Before I left Tennessee I knew I’d get sick. I was told it would be in the second week for up to seven days. After my 14th day I thought I had it beat. As soon as we got into our berths I realized I was in trouble. Whoever is the Indian equivalent of Montezuma was having his (o was it the goddess Gnesei) revenge on me that night. I made my way to the end of the train car (a buggy in the local lingo) to reach the toilet. My hopes were shattered. I saw what I feared most – the toilet was Indian and not European. That means it consisted of a hole, two foot pads, a sink and some handles to draw water. I held on, stooped and hoped for the best. I’ll spare you the details. It wasn’t pretty; but it went better than I feared. I only had one more round with the necessary room that night. Thank God for the small packs of Kleenex tissues. Toilets d not come with paper.
It was now the next day. The train arrived at 6:15 right on time. The Muslim made good on his word. He did tell me the right station to detrain. He even assured me the previous stop was not my station. Only a few got off. The haggling I expected among the SUV drivers for fares to Darjeeling seemed not to exist. Finally, descending the station steps a little boy and a young man with an older companion did approach and asked if I were going to Darjeeling. I seem to have been the only customer for the morning. Father told me not to go over 1200 rps. That would be a fair price if I were the only passenger. I was and I was sick. I didn’t want to haggle. So, foolishly, I accepted. Later, I found out I could have lowered the price considerably. At any rate, the scenery was spectacular; there were many landslides; the toy train’s tracks were in bad shape; and we had a flat tire. But, they got me to Darjeeling only a five minute walk from the Bishop’s House.
No one was there when I arrived except the caretaker. After denying that I was expected, he showed me to my room and gave me the key. Strange! Feeling a little better, I decided to see the amazing views my guidebook had promised. The caretaker told me which way I should go. I found out the weather had changed for the worse with cold dark clouds obscuring most overlooks. I went on anyway. Without knowing it, I stumbled upon the zoo and mountaineering school. The experience was good. There was a great museum of the mountains with the actual equipment of Hillary’s climb of Everest. The founder of the school was Hillary’s guide hen he climbed Everest. Then, the rains came down. I was dressed for the rain; but it still penetrated my clothing and I was drenched. All my clothes were wet. Back at the house, I began to shiver. I was getting sick for real. I showered and came down for dinner. It was good. My new host proved Fr. Susai a prophet. I excused myself and used all thee of the heavy blankets on the bed as well as the heater and some Tylenol.